


What's In A Word

by santa_gay



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Modern Era, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-08-11 03:17:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20146720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santa_gay/pseuds/santa_gay
Summary: Everyone is born with a soulmark, a glowing phrase somewhere on their body- the first words you hear your soulmate say after they realize they love you. Once you hear those words, your mark fades to a dark red or black. For Grantaire and Enjolras, their soulmarks have been nothing but trouble. They've both made it to their midtwenties without hearing their soulmates say those phrases, and thank goodness for that. Neither can imagine a worse soulmark to have, or any way those phrases could be said with love. Life is unpredictable though, and their stances on soulmarks may soon change.





	1. Chapter 1

** _Enjolras_ **

If there’s one phrase that Enjolras couldn’t escape, it was “don’t forget to breathe”. This mantra seemed to follow him, starting in elementary school when his guidance counselor tried to tear him away from whatever his special interest was back then. Probably wilderness survival or something silly like that. Those four words continued to hound him throughout his life, from his parents cutting off his latest sleep-deprived ramble as a teen, to a psychologist dismissing a panic attack as college student.

As crappy as his experiences with those words were, he didn’t hate them because of how they were used to belittle and dismiss him, though that didn’t help. He hated them because of how that little phrase glowed softly from his left hip bone, neat cursive letters curling up and around the edge of his torso. It wasn’t enough that “don’t forget to breathe” was the favorite mantra of every first-year psych student in France, apparently one of them would fall in love with him as they spoke those words. Not exactly an enticing proposition.

Enjolras slowly pulled himself out of bed, yanking on a pair of boxers and his well-worn binder before grabbing his red jacket and tying his hair back into a sloppy ponytail. Appearances weren’t important today, as he had no intentions of leaving his one room apartment. The jacket was just for the sake of routine. Yanking open his laptop, he pulled up his most recent fiery speech, and began editing.

To say Enjolras was passionate and dedicated would be an understatement. Since he could read, he’d choose one topic and stick to it with alarming focus, until he felt he’d learned everything there was to learn about it. Unfortunately (or fortunately, he really couldn’t tell), the topic he’d landed on most recently was human rights. Most recently, of course, meaning six years ago. Human rights broached such a wide range that it felt like there was always more to learn about, and more atrocities were being committed daily. Five years ago was when his interest switched from being merely research related and more activism focused. Now it’s blossomed into a full-on local activist chapter, in which he pours an alarming amount of energy for something that doesn’t pay the bills. Doesn’t matter. Fixing the world is worth any amount of financial hardship.

Speaking of which, _shit_. He glanced at the clock on his wall, and promptly realized that while he may have started work at ten this morning, it had somehow managed to become eleven at night without him noticing. Or eating. Recently this had become a more frequent occurrence, as the Amis had an important meeting with the governor about assisting the local homeless population, and they were nowhere near prepared for what was sure to be a difficult discussion. He had a meeting to run tomorrow morning with the Amis, just to make sure everyone was on track with their presentation, but since it was already eleven pm, what was the harm in working a few more hours to finish a rallying speech for the climate change protest scheduled for next week?

* * *

Apparently, the harm was to himself. As his alarm chirped at the ungodly hour of six am, it took all his effort to stand up from his desk where he had fallen asleep last night to go start his shower. To make matters worse, he had not taken off his binder before accidentally crashing, so his ribs hurt like hell. Another beautiful day.

By the time he was out of the shower, hair combed, and fully clothed, he felt a lot more human. He took one last glance in the mirror, taking the opportunity to get rid of any signs of anxiety or sleep deprivation. The Amis were working far too hard to see their leader be stressed. That would not be beneficial right now. He also took the chance to ensure his shirt was tucked in, securely covering his soulmate mark. That wasn’t allowed to be public knowledge. Once he felt that his mask of competency was sufficiently placed, he gathered up his laptop, and once again grabbing his red jacket, headed out to the local café where the Amis met, the Musain.

He had been set up for a good hour before anyone else started to trickle in and had used that time to begin researching what their next crusade could be. Of course, the meeting with the governor took utmost importance, but if he wasn’t juggling at least three issues at once, he felt useless. He hated feeling useless more than anything else. Eventually, almost all the Amis had appeared, and he switched his computer from his many tabs of local injustices to the presentation he had prepared.

“Today’s topic!” he announced, as the chatter of friends quickly became silent attention on him. “Today’s topic is the quickly approaching meeting with the governor! I know we’ve all been working diligently, but there’s still a lot left to do. Courfeyrac, you have the list of anti-homeless legislature the governor supported in the past? Feuilly, I hope you brought statistics from the last One Night Count. That’s vital data.” As Enjolras continued to prevail over the meeting, he could almost register his voice rising in volume and speed. It couldn’t be helped, that was simply what happened when he was allowed to voice his passions.

Things were going well, and he really thought his presentation was picking up steam when two things happened in quick succession that brought everything crashing down around him. Firstly, the group’s weakest link, most unreliable member, and local drunk Grantaire came crashing into the Musain, a full forty minutes late, his curly hair in an untamable frizz around his dark green eyes. That alone wouldn’t have thrown him off his stride, he was well enough used to Grantaire’s shameless interruptions, but Joly chose that moment to shout, in what he was sure was meant to be a lighthearted and kind way, “Hey Enjolras! You’re speeding through! Don’t forget to breathe!”

Fuck. All at once, every instance those words had been used against him, by his parents by his so called friends by his therapists by what felt like every authority figure in the world, all came rushing back to him, along with the little glowing words ingrained into his hip. Everything fell away and all he could see was those four glowing words, bleeding from the nights he tried to scratch them away, glowing stronger than ever every time he resolved never to fall in love, his secret that he thought he’d buried away deep enough that he’d never hear those words again.

“I… I have to go” he managed to blurt out, before rushing into the café bathroom and collapsing on the floor. His first, immediate thought, was to make sure the glowing letters were still a soft white and hadn’t faded to black. He didn’t think Joly was his soulmate, and honestly thought it would be disastrous if he was, but it was important to check. When he saw the soft light peeking out through his binder fabric, he felt at least slightly more relaxed. Not nearly back at baseline, but slightly.

His next thought was that those four words had been on his skin long enough, and he would stop at nothing to be rid of them forever. That’s how he found himself, twenty minutes later still curled up on the bathroom floor, violently scratching at his hip and rocking back and forth, unable to do anything but think about how much he despised the concept of soulmates, when a soft knock on the bathroom door interrupted his frenzied scratching.

He didn’t think he was capable of forming words, but the door opened anyway. To his surprise, it wasn’t Combeferre or Courfeyrac behind the door, but a halo of frizzy black hair and deep green eyes. Grantaire.

“Hey,” whispered Grantaire, for once in his life seeming both sober and subdued. “The Amis decided I was the best one for this job. I’m not sure why, but they probably think I’ve degraded myself enough that nothing anyone else does could bother me. They’re probably right.” He settled himself on the floor across from Enjolras and continued to speak quietly. “Don’t worry. The meeting continued right on, and Combeferre is busy dealing out assignments as we speak. You’re still on track for your meeting with the governor.”

The meeting with the governor had been the last thing on Enjolras’s mind, but it was kind of Grantaire to reassure him. He didn’t know Grantaire was capable of kindness. Somehow, just hearing his soft voice was enough to start bringing him back to the present, though he couldn’t stop scratching at his soulmark and his breath was definitely lighter than was healthy.

“Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay, Enj. Let’s start with the basics. Can I touch you?” Enjolras gave a sharp nod, unsure of if he really wanted human contact right now, but unsure what else to do. Surprisingly, Grantaire didn’t reach for his shoulders, or his back, or any of those spots that his parents reached for to get him to stop moving as a child. Instead, he reached for his hands, and gently lifted him away from his hip, which had started to lightly bleed from the scratching. And then, even more surprisingly, Grantaire let go of his hands.

“I’m not going to stop you from stimming, Enj. It’s okay. You’ve just started to bleed a little bit, and I don’t think that’s particularly safe or healthy. Feel free to keep moving your hands however else you’d like.” This was the first time anyone had ever given Enjolras free permission to stim, and the fact that it was Grantaire who was treating him so kindly still shook him to the core. “Do you want me to keep talking?” Again, Enjolras gave a sharp nod, and Grantaire started to ramble. About his day, about his most recent artwork, about how he thinks the Musain should be redecorated to update the vibe. About everything and anything, really. Eventually, Enjolras felt his breathing return to normal, and his voice return to his body.

“Thank you. For… helping,” he stammered, still shocked that Grantaire could ever be so gentle.

“Please, don’t worry about it. I’ve helped enough when Gavroche has a bad night, I like to think I’m an expert at this sort of thing by now. Can I ask, was it your soulmark you were scratching at? I saw a glow, but don’t worry, I didn’t read a word.” For the third time, Enjolras gave a sharp nod.

“Yeah. It’s a shitty phrase, and I can’t ever see how someone who loves me would say it. Please don’t mention it to anyone else.”

“Of course not. If there’s one thing I’m familiar with, it’s shitty soulmarks. I won’t say a thing.” At that, Enjolras looked up, curious as to what Grantaire’s soulmark could possibly be, but it was clear that that was all he would say on that topic.

“I need to get home. I have so much work to do, missing this meeting really set me back. I have to leave.” Enjolras quickly stood up, briefly washing off his hands in the sink before rushing out to the main café to gather his laptop and papers. Grantaire followed him, looking at him softly.

“Enjolras, I don’t think I could possibly stop you if I tried, but you’ve had a very long day. When you get home, don’t forget to breathe, okay?”

As Enjolras raced out the door, too distracted by the thoughts of his work to let one phrase uttered by a drunkard upset him, he did have one fleeting thought. That was the first time those four words had ever been said with genuine care.

* * *

Despite his best intentions, by the time he got back to his apartment, Enjolras was far too exhausted to do anything but fall immediately into bed. It was a miracle he didn’t crush his laptop as he collapsed onto his pillows. As he sleepily took off his binder and nestled under his blanket, something seemed off. It took a few seconds, but eventually he realized what it was. His room was completely dark. There was no warm light softly emanating from his soulmark. Panicked, he scrambled for his phone flashlight, desperately searching for his soulmark against his dark skin. Eventually, he found it, faded from a glowing white to a dark red, almost reminiscent of the blood that had stained it earlier. As he traced the words against his skin, he didn’t think he was able to deal with the implications of this. Somebody loved him. _Grantaire_ loved him. Grantaire was _in love_ with him. Grantaire was his _soulmate_. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta read, and I definitely accidentally set it both in France and in my hometown. Oh well, I hope yall enjoy it. 
> 
> One Night Count is something my city does where on the longest night of the year they count how many people are sleeping on the streets. We're just gonna pretend it happens where the Amis live as well.


	2. Chapter 2

** _ Enjolras _ **

When he awoke the next morning, he was almost peaceful. Enjolras didn’t really do relaxed, but for potentially a half of a second, he felt as though everything was in order. They were well prepared for the meeting with the governor, he had a solid idea of what their next project would be, and for once in his life he had managed to get all his bills payed on time. This peaceful feeling was quickly dashed as he glanced down at his hip, still expecting to see softly glowing words. As he stared down at the words now engraved a dark red, his pulse quickened. There was _no way_ Grantaire was his soulmate. That slobby, messy, heckling drunkard? He could not possibly think of anyone less well suited for him in this world.

Though as he thought back to last night, a slobby drunkard was the last thing anyone would have pegged Grantaire for. His soft voice and gentle touch, helping him through his panic attack, the genuine care when he reminded him to breathe, his green eyes shining with what must have been love, it was all utterly out of character. Not only was it out of character, it was almost kind. Enjolras had never thought of himself as being attracted to someone, but that man, that imposter, whoever had possessed Grantaire last night, that could be a man he’d love.

No. This was ridiculous. Grantaire was the lowest of low, an arrogant brat, and his soulmark must have malfunctioned. Pulling out his phone, he brought up Combeferre’s contact and hit the call button.

“Enjolras, what the fuck are you doing calling me? It’s fucking 8:00 in the morning on a Saturday!”

“Ferre, you know full well I get up at 7:36 am every morning. It’s how I keep my circadian rhythm in check.”

“Didn’t mean you had to pull me into your taking care of yourself bullshit. Anyway, since I’m here, how can I help, oh early riser?”

Here, Enjolras stopped. He had called Combeferre on a whim, an impulse. He wasn’t sure he was ready to confess exactly what had happened last night, or just how shaken up he really was. When he spoke again, it was with a noticeable quaver in his voice.

“Can… Are… Is… is it ever possible for a soulmark to be wrong? Do they make mistakes?”

“What?”

“Your soulmark. Is there any documented cases of a soulmark having lied?”

“No. No one has ever had a soulmark that didn’t align with their soulmate. There have been instances where soulmates didn’t match, where someone’s soulmate had a different soulmate than them, but never a blatantly false match.”

“Oh.” Enjolras was very quiet.

“Why? Did something happen with your soulmark? I wasn’t even sure you had a soulmark!”

“No! Nothing happened! I was just… looking into a potential new campaign against homophobia. If no soulmark has ever been wrong, there’s no argument that being gay is unnatural. That’s all. I was collecting evidence.”

“Well fuck, Enj. Collect evidence after noon next time. I’ll see you at the Musain later!” With that, Combeferre hung up, leaving Enjolras alone with the unbearable fact that Grantaire was his soulmate and there was nothing he could do about it.

Even more unbearably, he had five hours before the meeting at one, and nothing to fill those five hours but thoughts. His habit of staying six weeks ahead of work at the expense of his sleep and his free time had finally caught up to him.

So. Grantaire was his soulmate. Grantaire was in love with him. A man with who had never done anything but argue at the meetings, who seemed incapable of caring, who was irreverent and dismissive and had eyes only for his bottle, loved him. This was overwhelming.

Flipping open his laptop, he opened a new document and titled it “Facts”. He then started typing:

**Things I know**

| 

**Things I don’t know**  
  
---|---  
  
1\. Soulmarks glow until the words are said by a soulmate

2\. Those words are said once the soulmate realizes they love you

3\. My soulmark turned red after Grantaire said my words

4\. Grantaire must know he loves me

5\. Grantaire is my soulmate

| 

1\. Why Grantaire loves me

2\. What his soulmark says

3\. If I’m his soulmate

4\. If I love Grantaire  
  
Staring at his laptop, he realized having emotions was much too difficult for the morning. The only conclusions he was able to draw from this chart was that he needed more information. Slamming his laptop shut, he flopped exasperatedly onto his bed. He didn’t have time to deal with emotions and love! He had a cause! A mission! Love was only going to get in the way of that.

12:30 pm found him still lying in bed, ruminating in his own existential dread. Slowly, he dragged himself out of bed, pulled back his golden hair, and headed out to run a meeting. A meeting that Grantaire might be at.

* * *

To everyone else at the meeting, Enjolras seemed perfectly normal. He was poised, confident, eloquent, and intolerant of distractions. To Grantaire, who had spent the last year of meetings observing his every move, for reasons that were unclear to Grantaire until last night, he was obviously uncomfortable. His fists were clenched in his pockets, not gesturing like normal. His posture, normally ramrod straight, was hunched, as he pulled his shoulders in towards him. Most tellingly, he kept looking at Grantaire. He had never looked at Grantaire before.

Enjolras, meanwhile, was decidedly uncomfortable. To his surprise and disappointment, Grantaire was at the meeting today, and it was messing with his concentration. His only saving grace was that this was the last meeting before their appointment with the governor, so everyone was mostly prepared. He wasn’t lecturing on any new topics, simply listening to each member as they presented the evidence they’d be presenting at their meeting. This left plenty of time for Enjolras’s attention to wander towards Grantaire.

Grantaire was sitting in the back of the Musain, nursing a bottle as expected. He was alert though, paying attention to everyone’s speeches, and yelling out insults and flaws in their data at every opportunity. Enjolras didn’t think he had ever taken the time to really look at Grantaire, to really take him in. The way his eyes lit up with the joy of heckling, the way that maybe his voice wasn’t malicious but friendly as he yelled at Joly, how his black curls framed his face. Subtler things too, like how he tapped his fingers on his bottle in a little tune, and how when he noticed Enjolras staring he shot him a cocky grin. Embarrassed, Enjolras looked away, vowing to keep his attention solely on the people practicing speeches.

He succeeded until it was time for the meeting to end. He strode up to the front of the room, and coughed, letting everyone’s attention fall on him. “Great prep work, everyone”, he shouted, and let the Amis applaud their effort for a few seconds. “Our work isn’t done. Everyone who presented today seemed remarkably prepared, and I believe we can succeed, but this will not be an easy meeting. The governor is notorious for his support of anti-homeless legislation, and we will have to work hard to convince him of the homeless population’s humanity.” At this, Grantaire spoke up.

“Convince him of the homeless’s humanity? None of you have eaten or slept for days, I’m barely convinced of your own humanity! Giving up so much for what you’ve just admitted was a futile cause! The governor’s not going to listen! You’re wasting your time and energy.”

Taking a deep breath, Enjolras met Grantaire’s eyes. “Grantaire. I will happily discuss in depth the reasons I think it is worth having the meeting with the governor, but for now, I must go home to eat and sleep, as you seem to think I never do. Good. Day.” With this, he whirled on his heels and headed for the door, pretending not to notice how Grantaire lit up when Enjolras actually responded to his taunts.

As he was headed out the door, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he was surprised to find Grantaire behind him. “I meant what I said” he stated, and Enjolras felt a wave of disbelief hit him.

“What?”

“I mean it. Meeting with the governor isn’t going to change anything. He has no motivation to help you, no concern for those who are struggling, and you have no money to change his mind.”

“So what? You want us to just give up? Stop caring about the suffering of others?”

“No. I want you to change tactics. Legal procedures and legislation and meetings will not change this world. Action will. Start by removing anti-homeless architecture. Follow that up with creating community based programs to build and give free housing. Fuck the legal process. Start action on your own. Good. Day.” In an erie echo of their conversation seconds ago, Grantaire turned on his heels and strode out of the Musain, leaving Enjolras reeling in shock. He didn’t know Grantaire had opinions, and nuanced ones at that. He did not recognize the cocky and confident man who had just throw all of his plans out the window. The only thing that still tracked was the drink in his hand. Was Grantaire not a cynic after all? Enjolras felt his entire world drop out from beneath him, as one thought rose to the surface. Grantaire was really hot when he told him he was wrong.

* * *

When he got home that evening, Enjolras pulled out his laptop again. Pulling up his “Facts” document, he edited the list a little bit. When he closed his laptop again, the **Things I Know** column had another entry.

  1. I could let myself love Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not beta read, I hope you enjoy it!


	3. Chapter 3

** _ Enjolras _ **

Weeks had passed since Grantaire’s outbreak of cynicism, and sadly, he was right. The meeting with the governor had gone less than perfectly, and their weeks of preparation and effort had been dismissed in seconds. As the rest of the Amis mourned the loss of their weeks of preparation, Grantaire consistently showed up to every meeting, nursing his bottle and gloating over the fact that the Amis had failed. Eventually Enjolras had had enough. After one particularly frustrating meeting, where Grantaire had shut down every idea brought up, Enjolras reluctantly texted Grantaire, imploring him to meet at the local park at nine that night. They needed to talk.

Of course, Grantaire’s cynicism wasn’t the only thing that kept Enjolras up at night. Grantaire’s supposed love for him and activation of his soulmark was really the main culprit, but he wasn’t ready to admit that. He blamed his constant glancing at Grantaire on his constant interruptions, and the way his thoughts were filled daily by Grantaire was merely him trying to figure out how to get him to care about the Amis. That was all.

As nine drew nearer, Enjolras swung his jacket on and headed towards the park, ready for a strictly business meeting with Grantaire. All they would discuss were matters of the Amis and Grantaire’s constant interruptions, and anything else Enjolras perhaps wanted to drag to the surface would remain firmly buried. A glance at the dark red words on his hip served as a mocking reminder that there were many more issues than just behavior to be discussed.

Upon arrival at the park, Enjolras found Grantaire both punctual and sober, a surprise in both regards. As he drew nearer, Grantaire leapt up from the park bench he was reclining on and swept into an overexaggerated bow.

“R, what possible purpose would you be greeting me with a bow for?”

“Well, your highness, I figured that as you had summoned me so late at night it must be only because I, your loyal subject, am at your beck and call.”

“Cut the crap, Taire. I’ve called you here for exactly one reason. Your presence at the meetings been less than beneficial, but I’m still stuck on what you said a few weeks ago, about direct action. You _have_ ideas, Grantaire. Why won’t you share them?”

“Because I’m the drunkard who sits in the back of the room and gets no respect. Who’s going to listen to ideas from little old me?”

Enjolras remembered the night this whole mess began, when Grantaire calmed him down from a panic attack on a cold bathroom floor. Though he’d be loath to admit it now, Enjolras had seen enough intelligence peeking out of Grantaire’s green eyes to know he was absolutely worthy of respect.

“I will. I’ll listen to ideas from you any time. I promise.”

At this, Grantaire turned and started striding off into the darkness of the park. “Walk with me!” he called. “I’d rather not see your face as I inevitably disappoint you and your radical ideas.” Enjolras hurried after him, trying to keep up with this man who was beginning on a rant that seemed years in coming.

“You concept of change through legal action is useless. Your ideas and ideals are useless. Nothing is going to happen simply by writing petitions and calling your representatives. You should have learned that years ago. When was the last time you actually made effective change?” Enjolras tried to form words, but before anything coherent could escape, Grantaire had moved on.

“The only way you are going to help people, as you so clearly want to, is by starting at the bottom. Try giving a damn about the people you’re trying to help. Try learning their stories. You stay at the top of the pool trading pleasantries with the people who hate you while the people you aim to assist are drowning. Take a fucking dive sometimes. Look below your policies and protests. Try giving one homeless person a place to stay for a night. Your policy changes are games for rich boys. People are suffering in the here and now, and you can do something about that. Try making your next campaign something a little more direct, prettyboy.” Grantaire’s voice had been rising in pitch and volume throughout this tirade, but here he dropped to a whisper.

“Look. You care. You care more than I ever could. You still think there’s hope, and that’s miraculous. You just have never once bothered to look around you and realize how much can be done outside of a governor’s office. God, Enjolras, just look around you, just once.”

Enjolras still found himself mostly speechless, but one question bubbled to his lips. “I thought I had been looking! That’s all I’ve done since I founded the Amis, is look for injustice. What do you want me to see?”

At this, Grantaire turned around and stopped walking, staring Enjolras dead in the eyes. “THIS!” He yelled, gesturing at himself. “I WANT YOU TO SEE THIS! TO SEE ME! You think you know so much about poverty and how to fix it, but you’ve never once realized I’m the only one in the Amis who knows what homelessness looks like first hand. You’ve never once thought to ask any of the Amis their personal stories or experiences, and you’ve never shared your own. You’re so caught up in the concept of justice that you don’t realize that every single person fighting with you has shit of their own to deal with. You’ve never even stopped to wonder why I drink so much. You’ve never stopped to think about anyone outside of your crusades for justice. You care. You care so much for the world around you so why can’t you care for your friends? Why can’t you start changing the world by just helping one person? Why must it always been doomed crusades and tirades against injustice? Why is it too much to do anything that directly affects those you want to help? I just want you to try some direct action, Enjolras. That’s all I’m asking.”

Enjolras felt as though Grantaire had just socked him in the stomach. How dare he say that nothing the Amis have done mattered? He had poured his soul into this group, and they were making change. Slow change, yes, but change nonetheless. Affronted, Enjolras turned to leave, until a few sentences of Grantaire’s rant sunk in. Enjolras stopped walking, and sunk to the ground under a tree.

“Shit, Grantaire. You were homeless?”

Grantaire sat down on the other side of the tree, blatantly avoiding eye contact.

“From age 20 through 24, yup. That’s all you get to know about it.”

“Grantaire, why didn’t you say these things at a meeting? Why didn’t you share your ideas? We could have done things. You clearly have no faith in what we’re doing right now. Why didn’t you speak up ages ago?”  


“I thought I answered this already. No one wants to hear from the drunk, and the drunk doesn’t want to spill his life story to be taken seriously. No, you were better off on your own, no matter how many pointless crusades you went on.”

Enjolras leaned his back against the tree, resigning himself to cleaning sap off his jacket later. “Then why did you keep coming to the meetings, if you didn’t believe in us?”

“I never believed in the Amis, Enjolras. But you? You have the ability to change things if you just directed your attention the right way. I’ve always believed in you.”

Through all the revelations of the night, this was the one Enjolras was least prepared for. This man who loved him, who he’d never seen a side to but cynical and heckling, had bared his soul with three short sentences sprinkled throughout the night’s conversation. Enjolras was aghast that he had never thought to consider routes besides petitions and governmental meetings, but more so he was aghast that the man across the tree from him clearly had so more depth than he had ever tried to consider. Ashamed, Enjolras stood up and walked to the other side of the tree, where he found Grantaire curled into a ball, tucked under his green jacket, and faintly crying.

Unused to comforting people, Enjolras simply sat down next to Grantaire and laid a hand on his back. Surprisingly, Grantaire leaned into the touch, causing Enjolras to hesitatingly lean towards him, until Grantaire had shifted so his head was on Enjolras’s lap. Though Enjolras pretended not to notice, Grantaire continued to softly cry as Enjolras sat under the tree, stroking Grantaire’s back and thinking.

He was thinking not of all the bombshells Grantaire had just dropped about how the Amis was run, but instead of the man on his lap, how soft his curls were, how brilliant his ideas were, and how much emotion he had that Enjolras simply had never bothered to look for before. Suddenly he remembered that the man who was now asleep on his lap was his soulmate, and a revelation that had been weeks in coming sprang out of wherever he had buried it into the forefront of his mind. There was no more denying it. He had somehow fallen for this mess of a man. Enjolras was madly in love with Grantaire.

With this sudden thought taking shape in his mind, Enjolras reacted on instinct. He didn’t know what to do or say, so in what was perhaps the worst decision of his life, he simply gently pushed Grantaire off his lap and stood up, wiping his coat off and starting back on the path towards his apartment. He couldn’t deal with this right now.

Grantaire groggily woke up just in time to see the red flash of Enjolras’s coat retreating in the moonlight. Both men were now alone with their thoughts, which eerily mirrored one another in the worst possible way. As Enjolras fled from dealing with his emotions, and Grantaire watched the man he loved run away, both of them had one simple thought: “I have screwed everything up.”


	4. Chapter 4

** _ Enjolras _ **

Enjolras was not prepared to deal with this. Meetings and petty fights and petitions and social injustice, that he could cope with. Love? This was far out of his comfort zone. He didn’t love. He wasn’t really sure anyone had ever loved him, so where would he have learned how? His parents weren’t exactly the prime model of love. They had married for money, disregarding their soulmarks, and couldn’t stand the sight of one another. Enjolras had never before considered the concept that he could love someone.

He had considered other things, though. He’d considered the way Grantaire’s curls framed his face, and how his green eyes glowed, and how his fingers were so delicate. Artist’s fingers. Not what you’d expect from your local drunkard. Nothing about Grantaire was expected, least of all the fact that Enjolras was in love with him.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”. Enjolras rolled over and buried his face into his pillow. He was lying in bed, as he had been since he got home last night. It was well past noon, and this could well have been the most unproductive day he had ever had. He didn’t have the energy for social justice. He didn’t have the energy to stand up. He was too busy thinking about Grantaire, that smug bastard with the saucy taunts and the rude behavior and the wide smile and the caring heart and_ shit_ he was in deep.

Eventually, around four, a light knock on the door startled Enjolras out of his love and panic induced stupor. “Enj?” a voice crackled through the door. “Hey! It’s me, Combeferre! I’m swinging by cause you haven’t answered any of my texts all day, and usually you’re the first to respond to GIFS of Richard Spencer getting decked. You still alive in there?”

Reluctantly, Enjolras pulled himself out of bed and cracked open his apartment door, only because he knew Combeferre would not leave until he saw visible signs of life.

“Oh thank goodness! After you didn’t answer my call, I was half afraid you had slipped and were bleeding out but were too pissed to call an ambulance due to the lack of socialized medicine in this country. Honestly, Enj, I wouldn’t have been surprised. What’s got you….” At this, Combeferre trailed off, taking in the sight of Enjolras with his hair frizzy and loose, his red jacket crumpled because he hadn’t bothered to take it off before collapsing into bed last night, and the sheer look of desperation in his eyes. Combeferre had never seen Enjolras looking so… human. Enjolras had never let any of his friends see a crack in his armor. It was degrading and too intimate. The fact that he had opened the door looking so disheveled clearly meant that something was wrong.

Combeferre pushed his way through the half-open door and dragged Enjolras back to his bed, forcibly sitting him down.

“Okay, I came by to make sure you were functioning, and clearly you’re not. I’m not leaving until I know why, and until you’ve at least started to feel better.” With this, Combeferre plopped down on the bed next to him, and looked as though he didn’t intend to move for quite some time. Enjolras didn’t think he was quite up for talking, but he did want Combeferre to leave, as quickly as possible, and it seemed as though there was only one effective way to do that.

“I found my soulmate” he whispered, and went back to burying his head in his pillow.

“You WHAT?!” Combeferre yelped. “Enj!! That’s huge! You should be celebrating!”

“Comebeferre. I hate soulmates. I hate the concept, I hate the idea, I didn’t even think I was capable of love until I realized I loved him! Besides, I’ve fucked everything up.” While Enjolras was clearly speaking more to the pillow than to Combeferre, he still managed to get his point across.

“Okay, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Firstly, you’re clearly capable of love. You love the world, you love the people who need help, I know you love your friends. You’re just not used to this whole “romance” thing. That’s okay. You don’t need to know what you’re doing. You can figure out soulmates however you’d like, and I guarantee your soulmate will love your love however you give it.” At this, Enjolras rolled over and unburied his face from the pillow. He was still resolutely not looking at Combeferre, but at least his eyes were visibly open.

“Secondly, you can’t have fucked everything up. That’s a vast overstatement. There’s a lot of shit in this world that you have absolutely no control over, and I guarantee the US’s border policies are not your fault. Tell me what happened.”

Despite his best intentions, Enjolras somehow found the entire story slipping through his lips. What his soulmark said, the real reason he had called Combeferre to get soulmark facts a few months ago, what Grantaire had said to him, what happened in the park last night, what he hadn’t said to Grantaire, and ultimately, that he was hopelessly, madly, painfully in love with Grantaire. Once he started talking he couldn’t stop, and every fact was given in an emotionless monotone that did nothing to hide how caught up in this he was. When he had stopped spilling his soul, Combefere just sat silently for a few seconds, trying to cope with the fact that their fearless leader clearly cared about more than just changing the world. Luckily, love was one thing Combeferre could deal with.

“Okay. This is far from hopeless. Yes, running away and leaving your soulmate alone under a tree was not the smartest move, but nothing you can’t bounce back from. Grantaire loves you. You love Grantaire. You just need to make that message clear to him.”

“There is no way I’m walking up to Grantaire and saying I love you. I don’t think those words could ever come out of my mouth in any context. I’m not good at love.”

“You don’t think Grantaire knows that? That man doesn’t expect you to loudly declare love for him. After last night he doesn’t expect that you love him at all, guaranteed. If you were the type of man to tell someone you loved them outright, you wouldn’t be the man Grantaire fell in love with. You don’t need to tell him that you love him. He has his soulmark to tell him that. Your job is to figure out what you do need to tell him.”

Enjolras lay still, thinking. Thinking about the secrets Grantaire had revealed last night, and the facts he already knew. Thinking about the fact that Grantaire was a drunkard and struggling to get by, and so much more than that. Thinking about the fact that Grantaire had an entire past that Enjolras knew nothing about, and desperately wanted to learn. As he contemplated, the wisps of a plan started to form in his mind, and if there was one thing Enjolras was good at, it was completely upending his life to pursue the wisps of a plan. He sat up abruptly, startling Combeferre.

“Thank you Combeferre. I think I know what I need to tell him. I think I can do this. I’ll see you at the next Amis meeting, yes?” He stood up and pushed Combeferre towards the door, steadfastedly ignoring his look of confusion. Enjolras didn’t have time to explain. He had a project to work on. As soon as the door shut behind Combeferre, Enjolras shrugged off his crumpled coat and grabbed his laptop, pulling up the template he used for every Musain presentation. No, he couldn’t tell Grantaire that he loved him, but he could tell Grantaire that he was listening, that he took what he said to heart, and that he cared. Hopefully that would get the message across.

* * *

When he showed up at the Musain for the next meeting, Grantaire wasn’t there. That wasn’t unexpected, considering that Enjolras didn’t think he could remember a single meeting that Grantaire showed up on time for. When it became concerning was three hours later when the meeting was over and he still hadn’t showed. While Grantaire missing a meeting was definitely not unheard of, it hadn’t happened in at least seven months, and Enjolras couldn’t ignore the creeping feeling that this was related to what had happened in the park that fateful night.

As the rest of the Amis were packing up, Combeferre slid over to where Enjolras was standing, and slapped an arm around his hunched shoulders.

“Loverboy didn’t show up, huh? Disappointing. I was so curious to see what you prepared for him.”

“Combeferre, don’t tease me. Why isn’t he here? Does he hate me? Did I screw it up that badly?” Enjolras leaned against Combeferre’s shoulder, despairing at the weight of being in love.

“Enj. We covered this. You’re not irredeemable, he doesn’t hate you, you’ll figure this out. It just might take a little meddling from an outside force.” With that, Combeferre pushed Enjolras off his shoulder, grabbed his coat, and whisked out the door, leaving a stunned Enjolras who quickly decided he did not have the emotional capacity to contemplate what the hell Combeferre was up to.

* * *

When Enjolras got home that evening, he barely had the energy to prepare himself a bowl of instant ramen before collapsing into bed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. But really, who could blame him? He’d recently realized that love is real, that he was lovable, and had somehow managed to screw that all up. No wonder he was exhausted. As he lay in bed, he pulled up the document he had been working on, the one that he had intended to present at the Amis meeting today. Without Grantaire, there hadn’t been much point. The entire presentation was an olive branch and a declaration of love wrapped up in one. He lay there, scrolling through his phone (trying to ignore his problems) when a text from Combeferre popped up.

**Ferre-is Wheel: **Don’t worry about a thing. I guarantee Grantaire will be at the next meeting. You just be ready to wow him, okay?

Enjolras stared at his phone with a looming sense of dread. He wasn’t sure which was worse- the fact that Grantaire wasn’t at today’s meeting, or the fact that he would be at the next one. Sighing in frustration, he tossed his phone across the room. Not the most effective avoidance strategy, but it worked. As he pulled off his shirt to change into pajamas, he paused. Leaning back onto his pillow, his fingers traced his soft, red soulmark. He let himself feel the words on his hip, gently. “Don’t forget to breathe”, he whispered to himself. For the first time he could remember, the words on his hip didn’t feel like a punishment. It felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the person who commented on the last chapter and made me remember that I wanted to write more of this! Thank you for appreciating this story!
> 
> I do intend to finish it, so don't worry there. It might take me a while, but you'll get a full story. For now, enjoy!


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